


compliments to the chef

by kedda



Series: Food Wars: Santini v. Rametta [1]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Bickering, Drabble, Food, Gen, i guess, mild blasphemy, questionable culinary decisions, set before S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedda/pseuds/kedda
Summary: just some classic santini and rametta being idiots in the kitchen





	compliments to the chef

This would be a successful collaborative partnership, if they could only resolve their creative differences.

“Cinnamon does not belong in a red sauce!”

“Marti Marti Marti, cinnamon is a woefully underutilized spice in savory dishes and I, for one, think that it will elevate the flavor profile of the tomatoes.”

“Elia, I really cannot express to you the horror you have planted deep in my soul, but if we argue any longer about this we will have boiled all the water out of the sauce, so I will allow one (1) sprinkle of cinnamon.”

“Excellent.  You will taste and you will see, coward.”  Elia leaned forward and proceeded to shake the spice container four (4) times for the one (1) Marti had given him, but there was no expression more definitive of Elia’s personality than “give him an inch and he’ll take a mile”, and so into the pot went the cinnamon, along with a heaping tablespoon of Regret™.  Marti begrudgingly stirred the cinnamon into the sauce and was immediately hit by the utterly confusing aroma wafting off the concoction. He made eye contact with Elia and slowly pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. Elia brought his hands up in a placating gesture.

“You don’t have to eat it Marti,” he said, knowing full well that both of them were starving.

“Oh fuck off, this is all your fault,” Marti whined, and watched the sauce hiss and bubble, clearly offended by Elia’s addition.   _ Same _ , he thought nonsensically.

“Come off of it Marti, it’s just cinnamon.  I’m overlooking the fact that you put fish in earlier, like an adult.”

“Anchovies, like cinnamon, can be used at a certain time and place,  _ infame _ .”

“You are such a drama queen.  Go check the broccoli, I’ll handle the sauce.”

“So you can continue to ruin it?” Marti huffed, but he moved to the side and peered into the pan with the broccoli steaming on the back burner.  They were a young tree-green which meant that they would be pleasantly crunchy, and the only truly edible thing they would be putting on the table.  Marti scooped them out and threw them into another pan that had been heating garlic slivers in oil. A new smell filled the room and Marti closed his eyes in bliss.  His stomach grumbled.

“Remind me why we decided to do actual food prep as opposed to, say, ordering a pizza.”

“You were being stingy, as always, so a three course meal it is.”

“Don’t even pretend that you’re not the same way,” he said, rolling his eyes.  He was smiling though and with a quick glance up he could see that Elia was smiling as well.  Elia moved the spatula into his other hand and lightly shoved Marti in the shoulder.

“Do me a favor and shut up.”  They stirred in silence for a moment before Marti suddenly gasped.

“Marti, you utter child, you baby.  Did you burn yourself?” Elia sighed dramatically turning to look at him.

“No, no, I’m a  _ genius _ .  You have salami?”  Elia started nodding enthusiastically at the last word and pointed at the fridge.

“In the cheese drawer, go go go.”

“God, I am so hungry,” Martino said, and after some rummaging he removed the sausage triumphantly and slammed it down on the cutting board.

“Jesus  _ zi _ , don’t destroy my kitchen.”

“I’ll,”  _ chop _ , “destroy,” _ chop _ , “your kitchen,”  _ chopchopchop _ , “if I feel like it.  Here,” he said, handing Elia several slices before laying a stack of them on his tongue like he was receiving communion.   _ Amen _ , Marti thought.

Of course that was when the water from the pasta pot started running over and splashing onto the gas, forcing them to leap into action.  There was nothing more terror-inducing than the violence of water evaporating into fire on a stovetop.  Once they subdued the water Marti snatched a piece of penne from the water and popped it into his mouth.

“Good?” Elia asked.  

Marti shrugged.  “Better than your sauce,” he said, laughing as he ducked a slap from Elia.  

Elia let out a long-suffering sigh.  “C’mon, let’s eat asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> foolishness


End file.
